Umm, you guys I’ve got some BIG NEWS.
Okay, before you get too excited, I should probably mention that unlike my previous moves, this time I am not moving halfway across the globe or even the country.
I’m just moving about five blocks away. But still: YAY! SO EXCITED!
However, if you had asked me about this situation at the beginning of the week, I wouldn’t have sounded so excited. In fact, I would have sounded like a crying sack of crazy because that’s exactly what I was.
You see, on Monday I was informed by my landlord, that they were going to let me out of my lease, rather than deal with evicting my stompy, chain-smoking upstairs neighbor. Even though he was the one violating his lease agreement and not me. And that’s when I learned yet again: following the rules NEVER pays. NEVER.
(But I will still follow the rules because I am a wuss.)
I spent most of Monday crying because HOW AM I GOING TO MOVE IN THE MIDDLE OF FINISHING MY SEMESTER AND IT’S GOING TO COST SO MUCH MONEY AND THERE’S CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR’S, I MEAN, NOT LIKE I HAVE ANY SEXY NEW YEAR’S PLANS, BUT ANYWAY WAAAAAHHHHHH.
And then I called my mom crying. And she did that really annoying mom-thing where she was all like, “It’s all going to work out for the best,” or “Change is good” or some other such mom-sense. (I just made that word up. Don’t you like it?)
I spent Tuesday afternoon, running around looking at beautiful but over-priced apartments in cookie-cutter complexes located behind strip malls and bemoaning the fact that I would soon become the kind of person who would have to give directions to my place like this: “Turn left at the Chipotle. And I’m one block from there.”
I mean, sure, who doesn’t want to live within walking distance of a Chipotle? But I’ve never been an apartment-complex kind of lady. I love quirky, old buildings with funky, period doorknobs, old-timey light fixtures and questionable sewage systems. I love living in a neighborhood, not a strip mall. I love sidewalks and neighborhood diners and having to drive myself to Chipotle, which makes it special.
And then I got home and I had a message from a coworker mentioning that another coworker had an upstairs apartment she was looking to rent. And the next thing I knew I was knocking on her door in the middle of the night. (Okay, it was 8:00, but, you guys, I’m usually in bed by 9:00, so this was pretty much my middle of the night.)
And the apartment was perfect and quirky and full of so many fun doorknobs and light fixtures. (Although, hopefully, a not-so-questionable sewage system).
And it’s much bigger than my current apartment and cheaper and has about a billion closets and absolutely no stompy upstairs neighbor. In fact, I’m the stompy upstairs neighbor now, so it’s a good thing I’ve been learning from the best. (Haha, just kidding, downstairs neighbors! Please don’t hate me. Or evict me.)
And then I was signing a lease and handing over a check and planning where I was going to put all my stuff and putting up ads on Craigslist for the stuff I’m not taking with me and getting weird emails from people on Craigslist and wondering what the heck is wrong with people in this world. (Pro tip: Never refer to the small sofa you’re trying to get rid of as a “loveseat.” Even if it is technically a loveseat. That’s just asking for pervs.)
And then I had to call my mom and tell her that she was right.
How do moms even do that? I mean, that’s just got to be annoying, always being right all the time and stuff.
Have you ever had to move unexpectedly and you were freaking out, but it turned out to be a good thing just like your mom said it was going to be? Uggh, moms, amirite?